And then he spoke to the horses; in a moment they were out of the inn yard, and Anthony was facing toward New Castle in the track of the man with the patch over his eye.
XIX
Anthony had a feeling that the one-eyed man had taken the road toward Wilmington; so he put the sorrels to their best, and the miles spun behind them. The man ahead had no such horses, and Anthony felt he'd bring up with him before the next few hours went by. His first halt was at a decent-looking tavern on the verge of Wilmington. While giving his horses time to blow, he ate a little food and talked with the landlord.
"It's early for travel at this time of year," said he, as he munched the boiled beef and the good white bread. "I suppose I'm the first of the morning."
"Oh, no," said the host, an honest, stout man, who looked as though his judgment of ale was of the best; "there have been several passed before you."
"None you knew, however," said Anthony.
"I knew them all," said the stout tavern-keeper. "There was old Ned Dance with his bags of meal from the miller's, and Simon, the cabinet-maker's man, from Chadd's Ford; and then there was the master of the French ship—"
"What French ship?" asked Anthony.
"She that lies a few miles below; an armed ship she is, too, perhaps a letter-of-marque, but with only a few men aboard of her."